


Love was love

by Florensense (AmeAmeAme)



Category: Original Work
Genre: 70s england, Bars and Pubs, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Male Homosexuality, Original Character(s), Other, Underage Smoking, this lad has bad family relationships wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 10:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19392412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeAmeAme/pseuds/Florensense
Summary: "A pale freckled boy of late teens sat gulping down a lager, trembling hands making haste and exposing his nerves. He finished the drink and looked up. “I need the confidence” he confessed."Just a (super short) quick thing I've written for my creative writing exam prep. Warnings for use of homophobic language by a character and also implied violent tendencies!!Basically an example of the extreme homophobia that was taking place in 70's England (and still happens). Happy Friday!





	Love was love

“I can tell that your drinking eye has never opened” said the bartender.  
A pale freckled boy of late teens sat gulping down a lager, trembling hands making haste and exposing his nerves. He finished the drink and looked up.  
“I need the confidence” he confessed.  
“Fair play!” the bartender went back to wiping the silken grime from the soaked-through wood. Meanwhile, the boy looked around.

The pub looked traditional… Slot machine in the right corner, with some drowned soul betting his last five quid on staying away from his wife. Across from the boy and bar were tables, sectioned off by outdated ruggish chairs made from uncomfortable stains. Middle aged men with distinct pot bellies poking out of their work shirts crowded around their booths, wagering and tallying scores from the latest liverpool match, he presumed.  
Suddenly he felt a chill on the back of his right shoulder… and the air around him shifted to cold and sharp.

Turning around, he came face to face with his father.  
The boy picked up the pint, swirling the slegs before downing them in a confident facade.  
“What do you want?” he asked, leaning his shivering hands on his knees to stop them from jumping. The father- no, Man- looked down at him before wiping his lips with the back of his yellowed hand. He was a bull in a retired fighting ring.  
“You didn’t tell me you were a fag.” The boy reached into his pockets, suddenly feeling the urge to punch the man in front of him. Instead, he pulled out a rizzler, rolled and filled it, before lighting it with haste.  
He stared his father down. “What does it matter to you? I don’t live in your house anymore…-”

A sudden slam and shatter of conversation startled the boy into jolts. Breaths quickened. It always ended like this…  
“You still obey my bloody rules, you dirty tramp!” The bar was staring at him and the boy felt exposed. Humiliated. “It’s at times like this when i wish i’d cheated with a different bird.”  
That hurt. This entire conversation hurt him, viscerally. That was it.  
The boy looked up and stood from his place on the stool, before mumbling “i don’t have to deal with this.”  
It was all his brain could conjure up in his cacophony of mental noise and before the Man could reply he ran out of the pub and into dingy london streets.  
The rain whistled around him, killing his cigarette as he walked to-and-fro the pavement. He tilted his head up, and let the water slide down his face and pool at his collarbones. His father wouldn’t impose his own picket-fenced fantasies on his own son. Love was love, afterall. What a shame nobody seemed to understand that.  
A teen of the 70’s. He’s truly dead-end. What would one do? A tear joined the rain as he leaned against a decrepit building and considered his depleting options.  
Maybe, one day, people like him would be loved in society. They wouldn’t have to hide from prying eyes and state control. He hoped that one day they’d be able to celebrate love, not condemn it.  
With that thought, he leaned forward and continued walking. In the past, the cigarette lay discarded.


End file.
